Lawyer, Lawyer Pt. 01

"Excuse me?"

"You mean like the Crips and the Bloods?" I tried again. "Rival gangs, dukin' it out in the 'hoods around Saint Peter's Basilica with zip guns and knives?"

"Close," he said with a chuckle. "A little more sophisticated than that, maybe. What do you know about the Catholic Church?"

"I have some friends who are Catholic," I said, although I didn't really want to go there either. My closest Catholic friends would be the Pinskys. "Just general knowledge. You know, Pope up here."

I put my hand at eye level and started lowering it.

"Cardinals, Archbishops, Bishops, Priests, monks, nuns, sinners."

I had my hand down near my ankle.

"Do you recall the election of the last pope?" he smiled.

"Sort of. I don't really follow elections much, even in this country. Other than the Britney one, of course. I remember he's got a cool name, John Paul George."

"Catholic tradition requires that a newly elected pope take the name of a previous pope or his own name," Drew explained. "The first John Paul altered that by taking the names of two previous popes. So when Cardinal George Potter of Omaha was elected, he altered it a little more by including his own name."

"Plus he must have been a huge Beatles fan."

"You know, I honestly don't think it ever occurred to him," Drew said. "It wasn't until the jokes started about people kissing the John Paul George Ring-o that he finally caught on. And that just made him angry. No, this pope wants nothing to do with popular culture, no matter when it was popular. His election was the most hotly contested in recent memory, between the liberal and conservative factions of the church. It took seventy-five ballots, and was finally decided when two of the old liberal stalwarts among the College of Cardinals died while they were sealed in the Vatican."

"Of natural causes?" I asked.

"Let's hope. Anyway, his earlier predecessors, Pope John Paul the Second and Pope Benedict the Sixteenth, had been avid supporters of Opus Dei, the, uh, right wing nut jobs. Pope Armando, who served after Benedict died, leaned the other way. He had founded the Opus Christe movement a number of years before he was elected. The name is supposed to imply that by giving effect to the teachings of Christ, they represent the true Church. The Protestants went through this in the early 2000s, with something called the Red Letter Movement, because red lettering is used in some bibles to represent the words of Christ. Anyway, the current pope hates the Opus Christe movement with a passion, and has done everything he can to suppress it."

"Which is a lot, right? I mean, he's the Pope. Papal infallibility and all that."

"Which is another bone of contention with the Opus Christe people," Drew said. "They believe that the current pope in particular has seriously abused the principle of Papal infallibility."

"Really?" I asked. "How can you think that if you're Catholic? I mean, if the Pope says that God told him he's infallible, what's your answer to that?"

"You understand that the Doctrine of Papal Infallibility is relatively recent?"

"They weren't always infallible?" I was shocked. That would be like learning that there was some period of time when the Chicago Cubs didn't make the playoffs every year.

"Well, yes and no," he said. "It was always implicit. But it wasn't until the First Vatican Council of 1870 that the Church formally recognized the Pope's ability to treat certain things, matters of dogma, religious teaching, as being infallible. It used to be used very rarely. But modern popes have been stretching the definition of what they can teach infallibly ever since the political schism in the church started to widen. So when Pope John Paul George purported to include Opus Dei in one of his supposedly infallible teachings, the liberals revolted. He cracked down on them, in particular on Opus Christe, and they went largely underground. The priests, anyway. There's still a functioning civilian bureaucracy. They've got an office building and a website and everything, somewhere up near you, I think. You live in Wilmington, right?"

"Close enough," I said.

"So anyway," he continued, "the priests believed themselves to be so oppressed that a number of them have turned to violence."

"So those are your Catholic terrorists? A bunch of disgruntled priests?"

"There's nothing new about the use of terrorism in furtherance of religion," he explained. "Think of the Muslims, think of the Irish Republican Army. The Opus Christe militants claim, correctly as far as we know, that they have not taken any human life, but that property of the Pope is not property they need to respect."

"So what do they do?" I joked. "Pray that buildings fall over?"

"The bombing of the Baltimore Basilica last year. The destruction of another shrine in Maryland three years ago. The attempt to ruin that painting in the Vatican last year."

"Wow. I had no idea."

"I don't think many people outside the Church leadership do. They're trying to treat it as an intramural spat so that ordinary Catholics aren't forced to take sides."

"So where do you come in?"

"Well, we've been monitoring this for a year or so, because of the destruction of property and the obvious potential for harm. But the Church -- the Vatican's ambassador, to be precise -- has asked us to keep our hands off. Until now. We can't ignore it any more."

I raised my eyebrows, and he pushed a paper across his desk at me.

"This is a confidentiality agreement," he said. "By signing it, you promise not to reveal anything that I tell you today. If you don't, you can leave here and tell everyone we had a nice little chat about Catholic theology. If you sign it, you can't tell them even that."

I am nothing if not curious. I signed.

"Over the past several years, we have intercepted satellite transmissions from a facility in Iowa," he said. "A Catholic monastery. We can't tell where they end up; with modern satellite technology, there's simply no way of knowing. There are usually four bursts of transmitted data a day, over the past four years. All of them, up until now, have been so well encrypted that even our computers couldn't crack them. Four days ago, though, somebody appears to have made a mistake. Take a look."

His hand paused over a console on his desk.

"Before I show it to you, I should explain that we've seen similar videos before, and traced them back to Khartoum. That's what I was telling you about last month, the Catholic terrorist pornographers. These videos are usually put on DVDs, smuggled into the United States, and mailed to the individuals who ordered them. From what we understand, you can use the internet to order a video, for ten thousand dollars, of any woman you want. If they do four a day that's forty thousand dollars a day. That's fourteen million dollars a year. The money gets smuggled back into this country. And that kind of money will buy a lot of explosives."

"And that's assuming they work weekends," I mused.

"True." He seemed a little puzzled by my remark, but pressed ahead. "What we didn't suspect is that the videos actually originate inside the United States. The Khartoum connection simply makes the whole thing almost impossible to trace. Anyway, what apparently happens is they shoot the video, they mail you a script, you read the script onto a tape, you send the tape back, and in return you get back a video of yourself and, for example, Senator Spears."

He pressed a button on his desk, and a hologram leaped onto the wall. It started out with a view of the backs of a bunch of guys in suits. The sounds were those of a press conference: "Senator Spears, what do you think about global warming?" "Senator Spears, why did you vote to remove the federal mandate for child safety seats?" After a few minutes, someone said, "Thank you for coming, gentleman, the Senator has an appointment in a few minutes."

The crowd of men filed out to the right, leaving only the Senator in the front of the room, arranging papers on a lectern. She was perfectly dressed; Senator Britney Spears was nothing if not fashion-conscious. She still dressed like an absolute whore for her concerts, the proceeds of which she was careful to assign to charities, notably the Britney Spears Foundation, but when she returned to her job as a Senator, she knew how to play the part. It was a well-tailored black business suit, with the skirt ending demurely just above her knees. The only hint of something out of place was the fishnet stockings visible underneath her skirt.

"Can I help you, Mr. --?" Britney looks up, surprised to see that there is someone left in the room.

"Taylor, George Taylor," comes a voice from off-screen.

I found myself nodding. This video was just like the other one. The point of view was supposed to be that of the man who'd ordered the video, this Mr. Taylor. Drew pressed another button, pausing the video.

"George Taylor," Drew explained, "is an American businessman. Everything in this tape about him contributing to the Senator's PAC is true. We went to question Mr. Taylor, but he was apparently alerted to us and is now in Canada, which does not consider ordering pornography an extraditable offense."

He sighed like he thought it probably should be and pressed another button.

"I've been a very generous contributor to your political action committee, Senator," Mr. Taylor says.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Taylor," Britney flashes him a brilliant smile.

"Do you know why I contributed to your PAC, Senator?" he continues.

Britney obviously does not.

"Because you agree with my positions on the issues?" she guesses.

The man chuckles.

"Do you have positions on the issues, Senator?" he says.

"I have lots of positions," she informs him with a toss of her still-long blonde hair.

"I contributed," Mr. Taylor says, "in order to obtain access."

"To the political process?" the Senator appears dumbfounded.

"To you, Britney," Mr. Taylor says. "A generous contributor like myself is entitled to call you Britney, aren't I? You can call me George, of course."

"Um, like, sure," Britney says. "So you want access to me, George? Like, are you a constituency of mine?"

"Sure, Britney, let's say I'm a constituency." George chuckles again. "Now, how about showing me some of your favorite positions."

"Like what?" Britney asks.

"Like you kneeling on that chair over there, with your jacket and shirt on the floor beside you." George's voice takes on a hard edge. "Like now, Britney."

The Senator obediently strips down to a black mesh bra and kneels on the chair looking over her shoulder.

"Very nice, Britney," George says. "I'll bet another favorite position is sitting in the chair without your skirt, with your legs spread wide apart.

Britney obeys eagerly, revealing one of her most popular concert outfits, a pair of black shorts-style panties attached with garters to her fishnet stockings.

"That's a very attractive outfit, Britney," George says as the blonde blushes. "Do you always wear that to your press conferences?

"Yes," she says softly.

"Press conferences make you hot, don't they?" he says. "All those men standing there staring at you. Just like a concert, isn't it?"

"Yes." She starts squirming in the chair.

"You always find a nice discreet boy after your concerts to party with, don't you, Britney?"

"Sometimes." She smiles slyly. Her nipples are poking through her bra.

"Only sometimes?" George asks.

"Sometimes it's a girl." Britney's smile grows even larger.

"Well, today it's me, Britney," George says. "I feel the need to make an even larger contribution to you now. I'll bet those panties tear really easily, don't they? Right up the middle."

Britney reaches down for her panties.

Drew hit another button on his desk and the screen went blank.

"The rest is just pure pornography," he said.

"And you don't think I ought to watch it, to compare with the other one I saw?" I asked. "I mean that I maybe saw."

He cocked his head at me.

"Gillian Anderson," I admitted.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Seen that one. Parts of it, anyway. Everyone in the bureau knows about that one. As for watching the rest, you're married to a beautiful redhead, and living with a beautiful brunette. Fuck you."

He had a big smile on his face when he said it, though. And he was right. I didn't really need to see the Senator go at it with one of her "constituencies."

"Why don't you just raid them?" I asked.

"Judge turned down our warrant request. No probable cause. The evidence is just too flimsy. Plus it's a monastery. And he's probably right."

"So why show it to me?"

"I have a meeting with the Senator this afternoon," he said with a grin that suggested he'd rather be having a root canal. "And I have to show it to her. And I have to explain what I'm doing about it."

"What are you doing?"

"I've already ordered round-the-clock surveillance of the monastery in Iowa. I'm tracking Mr. Taylor's financial records, and those of the other men who I know received videos, although I suspect that will be a dead end. I'm looking at the computers of all these men to try to track their electronic transactions. Another probable dead end. And I'm talking to you."

"So you want to tell her that you've enlisted the services of a guy who writes mystery novels? You think that will help?"

"Telling her that? No. Believe me, that won't come up. But I do want to be able to tell her honestly that I'm doing everything I can think of to find these guys, Jason. And although I won't tell her, that includes you."

"Why me?"

"Nothing more than a hunch. I've only been this confused one other time in my life. That was a fake photograph. This is a fake video. Both times you've been around. And you did know about the videos."

"You can't possibly think I'm making pornographic videos to fund Catholic terrorists," I protested.

"I don't." He held up a hand. "But I think you might be able to help me figure out how they're doing this. You've become a character in one of your books, Mr. Thompson. You're now Joe Average."

"Fuck," I said, running my hands through my now thinning hair. "I need to think about this. First, I need your permission to break this confidentiality agreement. To talk this over with, uh, someone a lot smarter than I am."

He gave me a long look.

"I'll trust you to use your best judgment," he finally said.

"And I'll need a copy of the video."

He tossed me a DVD case from a drawer in his desk.

"Asshole." I laughed. "Oh, and I'll need a note to my wife to explain why I'm so late."

"Fuck you, Jason Thompson," he said with a laugh of his own. "A note from me is the last thing that would help you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go meet a senator."

"One more thing. How much of this tape is real?"

"Real?"

"Well, does the Senator have a boy or girl visit her after each concert?"

"Oh, sure, I'll just ask her that when we're done with the interview." Drew's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"It would help to know whether these guys have access to information that the general public doesn't have," I explained. "I'll give you a call after the holidays."

"Don't wait too long," he pleaded. "My ass is on the line on this one."

**********

I didn't even get to wait that long.

When I returned home, I found the family in the full frenzy of packing for a week-long Christmas trip to Hardwood, Pennsylvania.

"It might be shorter if I just drive back for things we forget," I suggested as I stood there completely unnoticed while I watched Karen pack two full suitcases. Down the hall, Julie was helping Beth and Danny get ready.

"Or you can just stay here and feed the fish and water the plants," Karen said sweetly, without even glancing at me, "and you can just mail us the things we forgot."

"Stay here with Julie?" I teased her. Julie was planning on moving back to her place while we were gone, but she'd be visiting from time to time for the fish and the plants.

"No, Julie would come with me." She looked up at me and grinned.

"Oh, all right, I guess I'll pack, too," I said. "After all, they are my parents. They might miss me if I'm not there."

"Or they might not." Her eyes twinkled. "They're very fond of Julie."

"Shut up," I said. "I assume you know all about the court appearance. Jim Krol was the guy who was always dealing, right?"

"Yeah. He became an Assistant U.S. Attorney after law school and then joined a nice D.C. firm. Yeah, we talked. That was all pre-planned, right?"

"Maybe," I admitted.

"He saw you getting in a car with Andy afterwards," she added casually. "Wanna tell me about it?"

"I do. But it'll take a while. We'll have time in Hardwood."

She gave me a nod and returned to packing.

**********

Two days before Christmas, with Mom and Dad having taken Danny and Beth to see Santa at the local mall, I sat down with my wife and a bottle of wine in the newly refinished basement rec room in my parent's house. Karen patiently listened to the whole story.

"So you're going to tell Andy it's the dolls?" she said.

"I have to. I don't see what else it can be. But I was hoping to be able to show him one of the dolls, to make it a little more believable. I looked for my dolls in the closet, and they're not there."

"Maybe Mom just put 'em away."

"They're not in the box in the attic that they came from either. I guess I'll have to ask her."

"I'll do it," Karen volunteered. "I can just see you trying to tell her why you're looking for him. You're such a terrible liar, honey."

She gave me a condescending look, as if that were somehow a bad thing.

"In the meantime, though . . ." she continued.

I raised my eyebrow.

"I think we should look at that tape."

"The one with Senator Spears?" I asked. "I'm shocked."

"Shocked, shocked to find fucking going on here," she agreed. "I do think we need to christen the rec room, though. They won't be back for hours."

She was kissing my ear, and running her hand underneath the sweatshirt I was wearing.

"So why do we need the video?" I groaned.

"We don't need it," she whispered, "but I want to do what Julie did. Don't you think it'll be fun to pretend you're making out with a Senator, baby? I'll go put on my Senator suit."

She was rubbing the growing bulge in my jeans.

"I'll go set it up," I gasped, "and show you what she's wearing."

Fifty-five minutes later, the Senator suit lay on the floor in a jumbled heap. A nearly naked Karen was standing, if you can call it that, with her legs as far apart as she could get them without actually dropping into a split. That cute little pose left her hot little pussy at just the right level for me while I was kneeling behind her. She was balanced on her hands, complaining yet again that there was no way a 40-year-old senator could get into this position. But I looked up at the tape, and there she was.

"Oh, God, Britney, you're such a tight little bitch," George says as he looks down to see his cock sawing in and out of the nearly naked Senator.

"Fuck, George," Britney gasps. "Fuck my hot little -- oh, God."

"Isn't that fucker ever gonna cum?" Karen complained. George did have amazing powers of stamina, particularly if Britney was as tight as he claimed she was. I'd been doing my best to match him, stroke for stroke, but I'd had to back off a few times to prevent me from reaching "The End" before George did.

"You know what I want to do now, Britney?" George asks.

"No," Britney asks breathlessly, "what, George?"